30 Days of Destiel
by Peach-Fox
Summary: Yup, I'm doing it. 30 day OTP challenge. They're all one-shots unless specifically stated otherwise, although I will try to travel in a roughly linear direction in regard to time. Enjoy!
1. Day 1: Holding Hands

Dean wouldn't remember it, Castiel knew. The righteous man remembered hell, of course; he remembered every second of that bottomless despair. But he didn't remember being pulled out.

Castiel had been surprised when he was instructed to retrieve a soul from Hell and restore it into its vessel. But back then, he wasn't an angel to question orders. Castiel had descended to the pits of hell, flown through the decay and blood, listened, detached, to the screams. The demons hadn't dared touch him; he had been lent extra strength for his assignment, and resonated angelic power.

Dean was there, in the depths, a cruel blade held in one hand, standing before the bloodied body of a girl bound between wooden beams. She was sobbing head bowed, voice raspy from her screams. Dean dropped the knife and took the girl's head in one hand. She cringed away, but had nowhere to turn. Dean murmured something, too soft for anyone but the girl to hear, and she opened her eyes wide, tears streaming freely.

Castiel reached for the man then, closed a hand over his upper arm, and began ascent. Touching Dean's soul was painful. Castiel could feel everything, _everything _that the man had experienced, every emotion, every gash and hole and scar that composed his beaten soul. He felt a rough, stone-like exterior that had been built up over the last forty years. Beneath that, he felt the raw, flayed, broken core that was Dean Winchester.

Dean thrashed violently, writhing in the angel's grasp until he had turned and could see Castiel properly, for the blinding light and energy and intention that he was. Dean's eyes widened. Castiel felt the exterior soften and begin to crack.

Slowly, Dean lowered his head and and his hands clutched desperately to the presence of Castiel, and he cried as his soul crumbled.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "So sorry,"

He stretched a hand upward, clawing at Castiel, desperate for the light after a millennium of darkness. Castiel hesitated before lowering the hand that wasn't holding fast to Dean's arm. Dean took it and kissed it and buried his face in the brightness and cried. Castiel felt, at the very depths of Dean's soul, something that so many years of hell should have destroyed.

A tiny, barely tangible, flickering glimmer of innocence, of love, of genuine, innate _goodness_ that had no place somewhere this dark. He felt the words that Dean had spoken to the girl and to every soul that he had tortured in his endless years in Hell; words that had soothed their broken beings, and advice that Dean would never, never be able to take for himself.

"Forgive."


	2. Day 2: Cuddling Somewhere

"Ow! Cas, that was my eye!" Dean said.

"Apologies," came the muffled response.

"Can't you put those things away? There's no room in here for them," Dean continued, squinting one reddened eye.

The men sat beside one another, pressed tightly together in an extraordinarily small circular trap that very much resembled a bird cage. Rusty red lines made an intricate, sinister looking pattern on the floor just outside the cage. Inside, Dean and Castiel were bound together with rope- really thick, expertly tied rope. Apparently, one of the demons had paid attention at scout camp.

Huge, feathery shadows extended from Castiel's shoulders, one cramped pitifully against the cage wall and the other pressing hard against Dean. The metal bars were starting to leave imprints on his cheek.

"Cas!" he complained.

"I can't fold them, Dean," the angel said, with combination of distress and irritation. "Whatever spell is keeping me in here is keeping me from using any of my powers, including wing retraction."

About an hour earlier, they had zapped from a hotel room into the the cage, in what Dean had promised was going to be a stupendous surprise attack on their part, but actually ended up being a completely anticipated and well countered trap on the demon's part. After trapping the men, the demons had taken off, intent to get their work done while two of their more bothersome opponents were tied up.

Castiel had insisted that the same spell that zapped his mojo had caused him to land in the cage in the first place. Dean was convinced that the angel just had bad aim. Regardless of how, they were certainly in a tight spot. Neither man could really move their hands, and Castiel was as useless as a human given the circumstances. There didn't look like a whole lot of ways out. They would probably have to wait for Sam, who would eventually realize that something had gone amiss in Dean's "flawless plan," and come to rescue them. Until then, they were stuck.

Dean wiggled against Castiel's wing, but only managed to jam his face even harder into the metal bars. He let out an irritated sound. Castiel moved his shoulder and the wing shifted slightly and, suddenly, Dean was pressed tight against the angel's chest, enveloped by his wings rather than repelled by them. Dean's eyes widened. It was much more comfortable, but they were pressed so close...

"I realize that this may impede on you 'personal space,'" Castiel would be doing those comically exaggerated air quotations if his hands were free. "But I reason that it is better than the alternative."

Dean's head was pressed against the angel's chest. Castiel's stubble tickled the top of Dean's head, and he could feel warm breath issuing from the man's lips. He could also hear a heartbeat, which surprised him a little. Dean felt the wings lowering, to rest lightly around the men-encase them in a dark, warm shell.

"They're tired," Castiel explained.

"Oh, ah, that's ok," Dean said, glad Castiel couldn't see the flush creeping to his face. He had a silly, fleeting hope that Sam would be a little slow on the rescue.

"Rest them as long as you want."


	3. Day 3: Watching a Movie

Dean was halfway asleep, sitting on a motel bed with his back to the wall, when he heard the flutter of wings, and became aware of presence very near to him. He turned his head and jumped, although he had expected the bright-eyed angel who had materialized only inches away.

"Cas," Dean said tiredly. "Don't do that."

"Where is Sam?" Castiel asked, ignoring Dean's comment and looking around the room. He had landed, perched on the very edge of Dean's bed, in his usual rigid backed, uncomfortable looking poaition. Dean stretched his shoulders, causing joints to pop alarmingly.

"On a date. You know, with that sister of that ex-angel or whatever. Trying to gather some intel."

"I would have expected you to man that interrogation," Castiel said with that smiled he got when he thought he'd made an excellent joke.

"Yeah, well, I expected Sam to play paper," Dean snapped. He turned his attention back to the motel television, which he had been occupied with before he began to doze. Dean suddenly became very interested in the screen, and grabbed the remote to dial up the volume.

Jazzy music played, and a wide, aerial pan of the city of Chicago filled the small screen. Dean grinned.

"Man, this is one of my favorites. Cas have you seen-"

Dean stopped mid-sentence, realizing the futility of asking Castiel if he was familiar with a popular culture film.

"This is one reference that you are gonna get," Dean muttered, leaning back against the wall.

"Sammy should be done in a few hours. You can do whatever you came to do when he gets back. Until then, you are going to sit here and watch The Blues Brothers with me. Kapesh, wings?"

Castiel gave Dean an especially owlish stare. Dean scooted over on the bed.

"Get your feathery ass over here," he instructed. Castiel obliged, and soon he and Dean were sitting, shoulder to shoulder, on the small bed, backs against the motel wall.

"This is, like, _the_ classic," Dean said.

The title filled the screen as Jake and Elwood embraced.

A small smile spread on Castiel's lips.

"It's about brothers," he stated.

"Well yeah, genius, it's in the name," Dean replied.

They sat in silence for the next several moments.

"Elwood is the elder brother?" Castiel eventually asked. Dean furrowed his brow.

"I don't actually know. Does it matter?"

"No," Castiel said. "He just appears to be the elder of the two, based on his interactions with Jake. Slightly protective. Very loving."

Dean shrugged.

"Don't Freud this movie up for me, man," Dean said.

"I don't understand-"

"I know."

Dean yawned and Castiel was aware of him leaning slightly onto the angel's shoulder. He could be heard, later, snickering sleepily at the restaurant scene.

Sam hadn't managed to get much information out of the girl, but he definitely wouldn't have deemed the evening unproductive. He turned his shirt collar up slightly to hide the red marks on his neck, then proceeded to fumble with his hotel key. He had expected Dean to be asleep when he got back, but he hadn't expected him to be asleep on the shoulder of Castiel, who was seated on the bed beside him. Credits rolled on the TV screen and Sam recognized the Blue's Brothers soundtrack.

"Cas," he said quietly, glancing at Dean, "What are you doing here?"

Castiel looked at Sam with a completely serious expression, and said, in the same lowered tone,

"I'm on a mission from God."


	4. Day 4: On a Date

Dean lurked stealthily behind the worn laminated menu and took a speculative glance around the restaurant. If it could be _called_ a restaurant. Dean was currently sitting in one of the most decrepit, unappetizing truck-stop eateries that he had ever been in. In the dim light that the few aged bulbs cast, the dingy, red faux-leather booths could be seen; worn with misuse and stained with things that Dean did not particularly want to think about. He was unwillingly beginning to contemplate what a particular light patch on the seat was when he became suddenly aware of another presence. Dean lowered the menu slightly and nearly fell out of the booth (which would have been fairly unpleasant, given the condition of the floor) when he was met with a familiar blue-eyed stare.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean said. The angel looked around the establishment, unaware of or indifferent to Dean's discomfort.

"I was unaware that you frequented such...colorful establishments." Castiel said, looking around with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

Dean gave him a dirty look.

"You make it sound like I'm here by choice," he growled. Castiel's gaze wandered back to Dean, and the man was caught in that impossible sea-scape of blue. He felt his heart flutter a beat, and very promptly decided that it was from the highly questionable sandwich he had just consumed.

"Every single thing you do is by choice."

Castiel smiled in a _you know exactly what I'm talking about, you Heaven/fate defying little minx, you,_ sort of way.

Dean grumbled something and took a sip of coffee before making a horrible face.

"This is the second worst cup of coffee I've ever had," he complained. Castiel quirked his head slightly, and Dean didn't try to cover his smile.

"Rickman, Ohio. Single worst cup of coffee in all of creation," Dean said. Castiel smiled again. Bold claim.

"I may be here by choice, but I'm not happy about it," Dean continued. "According to Sam, the better researcher should stay nice an cozy in the motel while his partner goes out and handles the espionage. I should have left that kid dead. Nothing but a headache..."

Castiel looked at Dean with huge eyes.

"Dean, I can't believe-"

Dean raised his eyebrows, and Castiel's expression slowly relaxed.

"Sarcasm," he said, questioningly.

"He can be taught!" Dean replied, grinning. Castiel smiled proudly back. Dean laughed and caught the angel's eyes and held his gaze far longer than was necessary.

The waitress wandered over to their table and offered a big smile. Now, at this point in life, Dean Winchester had visited enough road-side stops to have several pretty good systems worked out. One of the more scientific ones, that he was quite proud of, was the waitress-hotness-to-establishment-quality direct relationship. In short, it stated that the hotter the waitress, the better the place. Even if a restaurant looked a little dingy and worse for wear, if the waitress was nice looking, then the food was almost always good.

The girl here was an anomaly. The truck-stop was a crappy, poorly maintained, atmosphere-void shack, Dean was reluctant to call the material they served food, yet the waitress was quite possibly one of the most beautiful people he had ever seen. Pretty round face with great big green eyes, brown ringlets falling over pale shoulders, curves that Dean thought should probably have been illegal, and an overall warmth that brightened her cheeks and lips and eyes and exuded from her person in a sweet wave.

Strangely enough, when she approached, although the logical thing for Dean to do would have been to turn on his charm full blast and flirt like there was no tomorrow, he couldn't seem to tear his gaze from Castiel. Did the angel look brighter, somehow? It almost looked like he was glowing, the dim shadows casting a faint aura of light and wings around that ridiculous trench-coat that Dean was secretly so very fond of.

Dean was finding the effect extremely distracting. With difficulty, he dragged his eyes to the girl and felt his face brighten when she smiled knowingly.

"Anything else for you, sweetheart?" she asked, a gentle southern drawl sweetening her soft voice. Dean cleared his throat.

"Yeah, just two coffees. Thanks," he mumbled. The waitress gave a nod and turned to leave. She paused, turned back to the pair with an impish smile.

"Glad you boys aren't afraid to come out here to a little stop like this. There's plenty of people that support you, even this far out in the country," she said. Dean gaped at her. She smiled again, this one a soft expression of sympathy and pride, before turning and trotting off.

Dean looked at Castiel, who was regarding him with mild confusion.

"Make yourself useful and keep your eyes peeled for stereotypically Irish men wearing green," Dean said gruffly, returning to his previous strategic position behind the menu although, this time, it was more to cover his bright face than for any purpose of espionage.


	5. Day 5: Kissing

I just realized that, thus far, these single-day pieces could be chronological. My new goal in life is to make this entire OTP challenge chronological. Hold on to your butts.

* * *

"It's called an angry kiss, Cas," Dean said lazily from his reclined position on the couch. Castiel was clutching a small, well-worn novel, a look of total confusion on his face.

"Why would you kiss someone if you were angry with them?" He asked in his regular low, serious voice. Dean shrugged, deciding a verbal answer required more effort than he was willing to expend. He continued to watch the rather bad daytime TV until Castiel, with an intense expression, edged over to completely obscure Dean's line of sight. Dean sighed.

"Like the heat of the moment, you know? You got a lot of feelings when you're angry and sometimes they come out in weird ways."

He craned his head around the angel in a simultaneous attempt to see and relay a message to the celestial creature before him. Castiel took the hint and shuffled aside, although his bright eyes did not lose their excessively puzzled look.

"Kissing is an expression of affection," Castiel continued after a very long pause. He sat on the couch beside Dean and stared owlishly at the book, willing it to reveal the complex inner workings of human relations.

"I'm not gonna argue with you there," Dean agreed, frowning at the now-empty beer bottle and throwing one last glance at the abomination of television that was happening on screen.

"But just because you care about someone doesn't mean they don't drive you crazy. I actually think that those are the people who make you angriest. I am, at any given time, irritated with Sam, for example."

"And that makes you kiss him?" Castiel asked, following what he was sure was a clear, logical train of thought.

"What? No, come on, Cas!" Dean said, making a face.

"You're irritated with me right now," Castiel observed.

"Make that 24-7," Dean corrected.

"But you still feel affection for me," Castiel said, turning those mildly confused, gigantic blue eyes on the hunter.

Dean mumbled something and returned his attention to the screen.

"What is the purpose of an angry kiss?" Castiel continued relentlessly.

"It doesn't have a purpose, it's a stupid thing that people do because they can't control their emotions," Dean snapped.

"Why are you getting upset?" Castiel asked, tilting his head questioningly.

"I'm not getting upset," Dean said loudly.

"When I am upset, I find great comfort in reviewing the bible," Castiel continued.

"Cas," Dean's voice definitely suggested irritation.

"Especially the scriptures highlighting God's love for all his children," Castiel said, looking peacefully at Dean.

"Cas!" he was yelling now, brow lowered.

"I much prefer the Old Testament to the new," Castiel voiced speculatively.

"Cas, I don't care about the bible!"

Dean leapt to his feet, irritation finally getting the best of him, and Castiel stood up beside him, looking confused.

"The Lord-" he began

Furiously, Dean grabbed Castiel's trenchcoat collar and pulled him into an angry kiss to silence the infuriating angel. It only lasted a second, because part way through Dean realized what he was doing, and released the shirt with shock and horror. Castiel, more surprised than he had ever been by anything Dean Winchester had done, slid away without the Winchester's hands to keep him there. The men regarded one another with wide eyes, neither daring to speak. The sound of a key in the door was quickly followed by the flutter of wings, and when Sam wandered into the room he found Dean, standing alone near the couch, hands held before him, regarding the door with a panicked expression. Sam noticed that his brother looked rather red and flustered, and promptly decided to check his computer for any new viruses.


	6. Day 6: Wearing Each Others Clothes

"Son of a bitch," Castiel muttered, staring exasperatedly at the man across from him. Dean looked back with an expression of disgruntled, but benevolent, confusion.

"You and your freaky angel crap!" Castiel said, pointing angrily at Dean, who had stood from his motel bed. "This sort of thing isn't good for me, Cas!"

Dean's brow lowered even further, giving the Winchester a comical look.

"This was none of my doing," Dean grumbled, shifting uncomfortably and reaching for trenchcoat pockets that weren't there.

Castiel ran a hand over his mouth and frowned.

"Sammy and I ran into this once before- with some middle school douche bags. But that was an actual spell that we figured out how to break. I have no idea in hell what this is."

Dean tilted his head.

The men had become aware of their rather unusual predicament several hours ago, when Castiel suddenly became conscious in a human vessel that was not at all his own, though it was still quite familiar. It had taken Dean, driving a completely foreign vessel, those several hours to figure out how to zap to his destination- naturally, his body. He had found his body sitting quietly on the motel bed where he had left it, frowning into space.

Castiel regarded Dean's head tilt for a moment before crossing his arms and turning away with a huge sigh. It was the strangest experience, seeing his body like this, watching Castiel's expressions on his own face. It was unsettling, and Dean didn't like it.

"There must be some reason that I'm inside you," Dean mused solemnly.

Castiel winced, and gave Dean an uncomfortable look.

"Please phrase that differently," he said.

"Why?"

"Just because," Castiel insisted. Dean could feel the body's cheeks warm and he tried to force down the blush. Shockingly, this reaction did not go unnoticed.

"You're blushing," Dean announced. Castiel glared.

"I am not! Shut up."

"Dean, perhaps this is a good time to discuss how our relationship has recently changed."

Castiel was definitely blushing now, with little hope of concealment.

"What are you talking about?" Castiel's voice was uncommonly high.

"You've been reacting to me differently lately," Dean said.

"I have not."

"You only discuss matters of hunting and the supernatural," Dean continued, "And you avoid holding my gaze."

Castiel caught that green-eyed stare and was, once again, utterly freaked to see himself staring back.

"The change in your behavior began nearly a week ago," Dean continued, staring relentlessly at his true vessel.

"After we kissed,"

"Cas!" Castiel cried, horrified. "I don't want to talk about that!"

"Why?" Dean asked, head tilting. "Would you rather shove it down and try to ignore it until it comes out in some violent, cataclysmic emotional explosion?"

"Much rather," Castiel said gruffly. Dean stared at Castiel until the latter became too uncomfortable to continue the silence.

"Well, what, you want to talk about it?" Castiel asked, face continuing a bright flush.

"Yes," Dean said softly, looking down.

"Well what about it?" Castiel asked loudly, "It was weird! I don't even begin to understand it! And I keep thinking about it and I'm too confused to know if that's even a bad thing."

Castiel gave Dean a desperately lost look, and that was about the time that the Winchester-bound angel decided that this was an excellent opportunity to try something he'd been thinking about for the past twenty minutes. Without giving Castiel a chance to object, Dean trotted forward to throw himself at the other man, colliding into an ill-coordinated rather messy kiss. When the men parted they stared at one another quietly for a few seconds.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, turning over a hand to examine it.

"Yes, Dean," Castiel replied, looking relieved to have returned to his own vessel.

"We reversed Freaky Friday."

Castiel tilted his head.

"I don't understand that refer-"

Castiel's words were cut off by Dean's hesitant, but interested, lips pressing against the angel's. Dean pulled away after several moments to give Castiel a slow smile.

"I know."


	7. Day 7: Cosplaying

The cowboy roughly grabbed the red cape of the man beside him, only just managing to pull him out of the way of the swarm of quick moving, dark-cloaked men sporting light-sabers.

"Watch it, Krypto," Dean said. Castiel tilted his head at the Winchester.

"Krypto was…never mind, just watch where you're going, ok?"

Dean thoughtlessly tugged a few wrinkles out of Castiel's cape, earning several knowing glances and shared giggles from the gaggle of Gryffindor girls passing by.

Castiel, for the utmost time, looked down at the large red S adorning the blue material that stretched tightly across his chest, and took on a consternated expression.

"Dean, I feel foolish in this disguise," he said. Dean grunted in reply.

"Well, one of needs to get into the DC section unnoticed, and no way you could pull off Batman."

"You could have worn this 'Superman costume,'" Castiel continued, saying the last words carefully, obviously still not entirely sure what they meant. Dean frowned.

"No, because we also need to get into the Space-Western section, and I already had the clothes," he said patiently. Dean suddenly became serious, putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder and nodding discreetly toward a group of armored women.

"Those could be our girls," Dean said. Castiel squinted at them.

"You are certain that a tribe of amazons would choose such a public rendezvous location?" Castiel asked. Dean nodded.

"It's genius, really. An unlimited supply of desperate men, and enough people to make a murder hard to follow."

Dean fixed his eyes on Castiel's, grabbing the angel's shoulder for emphasis.

"Don't sleep with any of these chicks. They reproduce like rabbits on steroids, and the last thing we need is a little angel-amazon bastard running around trying to kill you."

Castiel regarded Dean seriously.

"But I'm sleeping with you," he said, frown deepening. Dean spluttered wordlessly in reply.

"Cas, we are not sleeping together!" Dean hissed after a moment, eyes wide and face red.

"But we share a hotel room," Castiel said, obviously confused.

Dean ran a hand tiredly over his eyes.

"Ok. What I meant is, don't have sex with any of the Amazonians. Kapeesh?"

"Oh," Castiel replied. Dean pulled out his phone and regarded it for a moment.

"We should call Sam and Charlie and let them know we have a lead," Dean muttered. He glanced over to where the group of women had previously been, and made an irritated sound.

"Son of a bitch, where did they go?" Dean said. At that moment, his phone began to ring in his hand, and Dean hastened to answer.

"What have you got?" he said.

"We're over at the Harry Potter panel," Sam said. Dean rolled his eyes at Castiel. "We were going to head over to Marvel in a few minutes. Anything on your end?"

"Yeah, maybe," Dean said. "We'll let you know. Hey, keep an eye on Charlie. It would be just like her to wander off in this place."

"Right. Bye."

Dean snapped his phone shut, and turned to meet Castiel's questioning gaze.

"Ok, Cas, we just have to focus and keep our eyes peeled for-" Dean stopped mid-sentence, having become fascinated with something off to Castiel's left. Castiel turned and squinted, attempting to identify whatever held the other man's interest so raptly. Dean walked over to one of the nearer booths, grinning like an idiot.

"No way," he said joyously "Man, Cas, look at this! These were my favorite comic books when I was a kid!"

Dean held up a slim dark book with the title _Hellboy_ above a drawing of a red demonic creature. Castiel's eyes narrowed even more.

"A book about demons, Dean?" Castiel said disdainfully.

"Not really. It's about this dude who's like the prince of hell or whatever, who breaks away from the shitty destiny that was all planned for him, and goes around kicking monster ass. It's awesome," Dean concluded. Castiel leaned an arm on the table, and Dean thoughtlessly covered the angel's hand with his own, not even glancing away from the book he had picked up. The girl selling the books beamed at them.

"Mike Mignola is on a panel tomorrow. I bet if you brought that he's sign it," she said cheerfully. Dean grinned first at the girl, then at the book, and finally at the angel beside him.

"A graphic novel about a creature breaking his bonds and embracing free will," Castiel said with a little smile.

"I can see why you would be interested in that."

Dean squeezed his hand and turned, smiling, to the girl to ask her more about tomorrow.

Just then, Two Starfleet cadets walked by the booth, pausing to give Dean and Castiel smiles and appreciative looks, which were completely ignored. After a moment, the taller of the women frowned and shook her head.

"I don't think so. These are not fit breeding grounds," She said quietly to her Amazon sister, who was gazing distractedly at the Superman-lookalike. The taller woman sighed.

"There are few suitable men here to begin with. And of those few they all appear to be unquestionably gay."


End file.
